Bloodlines
by Bravo Six-Two
Summary: After an attempt on the life of Carmelita's father, Inspector Fox and the gang must delve into an insane Interpol secret that was never meant to be discovered. What lengths will Carmelita go to find her father's attacker? Once she finds herself in the crossfire, the only thing she has left to ask herself is how deep this rabbit hole goes. CURRENTLY ON HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I'm back again, hopefully for good this time. Due to trouble with my computer I'm having to upload from my phone. It actually makes it easier with the C+P function :P. But my main focus on this first note is to explain why my stories have kinda fallen through, namely resulting from my lack of experience and little confidence in my own writing. What my stories evolved into and my old writing style left me feeling scared of publishing anything. I appreciate the support I did receive, and I hope to finally publish a story that I can be proud of. With that, I'll leave you to it. :D P.S.- This is actually the second time I uploaded this chapter, revisions were needed as the format was all wonky.**

"Are you a God fearing kind of man Rodrigo?"

In his whole life, Rodrigo Montoya Fox had never truly felt he was in a hopeless situation until now. The query was enough to draw a stir from the barely conscious fox, and he tried to mumble a response through his swelling mouth and broken jaw. The figure stooped in front of him, and Rodrigo spat a short spray of blood in defiance. This act was rewarded with the sharp crack of a baseball bat on his arm, which further broke the already fragmented bones. Stars danced on the edge of his vision as the burning pain shot up his shoulder through the rest of his body. The pain was enough to cause him to black out momentarily, and he felt his head be forcibly pushed back as a putrid liquid was forced down his throat. His eyes shot open at the taste of the concoction, and he convulsed and spat to remove the liquid that was making its way through his mouth. After a short fit of coughs, he looked up at the figure again.

"I've never been given a reason to fear God, nor should I." The figure chuckled and paced a clockwise circle around the chair Fox was strapped to, taking his time as Rodrigo's breathing steadied again. As he completed the rotation, the figure crouched down and met Rodrigo's bloodshot eyes with a pair of metallic blue orbs. The sight was enough to cause a shiver to go down Rodrigo's spine.

"Why did you do it? After all we accomplished together? Why Fernando?" The figure smirked and drew a knife from his coat pocket, twirling it casually in his hands before ramming it down through Rodrigo's wrist. A bright spray of blood shot out as the steel blade pierced all the way through flesh and bone before solidifying itself in the wood of the chair. Fernando released the knife and stepped away as blood continued to flow from the wound, his body language expressing anger with a clawed finger pointing at the bound Fox.

"Because of what you did! Because of what more we could have accomplished! All the work, the hours, the research, all of it! You threw it away to keep your bosses happy! You tarnished your name to me, M, and Cooper! Why? Because you single-handedly destroyed my life's work to keep your job. A paycheck, benefits... At the cost of revolutionizing modern medicine!" Fernando's rant had hit home with Rodrigo, and he was angered by the accusations being made.

"It's not like I had a fucking choice! I was trying to provide for my family, to have a life! And don't fool yourself Fernando. Modern medicine? I saw the schematics! I knew your plans! That's why I scrapped the project!" Fernando let loose a barrage of punches on Fox, hitting one after another on the wounded man's face and body. By the time he had finished, Rodrigo was on the verge of blacking out again. He could only see out of one eye now, as the other began to swell shut. A steady drip of blood now flowed from his mouth, down his chin, and onto his shirt. His breathing was now a barely audible wheeze, like the sound of air being blown into a paper bag. Had it not been for the chair he was bound to, he would have collapsed long before now under the heaving motions that his lungs were making. Fernando roughly lifted his head with a bloodied hand and stared into his one eye, speaking in between short, frustrated breaths.

"You can't stop me this time." He pulled out a cell phone from his other coat pocket and kneeled down beside Rodrigo, adjusting the device so that they could both see the screen. He began to scroll through the photos on the phone, all taken from a distance and of poor quality. Despite most pictures being unrecognizable, he stopped on the last one of the set, allowing Rodrigo to see it. Even though the photo was fuzzy, the long blue hair was unmistakable. Rodrigo immediately shifted in the chair, pulling with all his strength to break free from the restraints. The reaction was apparently what Fernando was looking for as he wrapped a hand around Fox's shoulder.

"I think it's time I pay your daughter a visit." He could see the rage building in the eyes of Rodrigo, as desperation turned to pure hatred. His voice was frail but absolute as he spoke through broken teeth.

"Leave her out of this! This is between you and me!" The jaguar threw back his head in a short laugh as he repositioned himself in front of the dying Fox.

"You're right, but what you did to me can't be repaid in blood. _Your_ blood anyways. After that, I will finally show the world what I'm capable of..." Fernando turned back to Fox.

"What _we_ could have been capable of." Rodrigo's face was still a defiant grimace, but tears were visibly running down his face.

"You're a fucking psychopath, and your creation won't fare any better than M. He's currently sitting at the bottom of his island, with the Cooper vault on top of him." Fernando scoffed and shook his head.

"However much of a genius M was, his works could only be considered abominations, bastard children to science. He was blinded by greed, and it cost him in the end. I asked if you are a God fearing man because I have harnessed the power of God, the ability to create and give life." Fernando, despite the grave nature of the situation, seemed almost giddy talking about his own accomplishments. Rodrigo scoffed.

"I won't beg to satisfy your vain affection for yourself as a god. You're blinded by ambition."

"Ambition that you so rigorously drilled into me back in Barcelona. Do you not see Rodrigo? My work will change the world, and to hinder such a revolution is simply an act of foolish pride."

"By causing the genocide of millions of people? By having rivers of blood flow through every country on the globe?"

"Wasn't it you that told me that not everyone is as sweet and innocent as your daughter? As your family?" Rodrigo looked up with blood now flowing from his swollen eye.

"The ends justify the means? Bring the world to the brink of global catastrophe just to show off your genius? Do you honestly believe any of this will work?"

"Once the world sees me for what I am truly capable of, no one will challenge me. I have all the of the pieces on the board..." He turned to look out the bedroom window to the skyline of Paris.

"It's just a matter of when I decide to begin my turn."

"So that's it then? I'm the last pawn on the board?" Fernando laughed wholeheartedly and paced back to the center of the room.

"There would have been three, and let me assure you..." The jaguar leaned in closer to the Fox's face. "I took great pleasure in telling the bird where the Coopers were. A favor, so to speak." The thought of his friend being ripped apart by Clockwerk was too much for Rodrigo to bear, and the tears returned in a steady flow.

"You're the devil Fernando." The jaguar pulled a small lighter from his coat and lit the cigarette that was in his pursed lips and blew a huff of smoke into Rodrigo's face.

"No, but you'll be seeing him very soon. Goodbye my friend." Fernando motioned to the two men who had occupied the room the entire time and they marched back out the front door. Fernando stopped just short of the cold, Parisian blast of air and stared at the fox with a wicked grin plastered across his features.

"And Rodrigo..." The wounded fox looked up from his hunched position.

"Enjoy the fireworks." With that, Fernando tossed the cigarette to the entry hall floor, causing a wall of flames to shoot from the ground. The jaguar's now mirage like image disappeared from the doorway, and that's when the reality of the situation hit Fox. The liquid they had poured down his throat was gasoline, and they had apparently left some in the house to burn with him. The flames were now licking at the blood soaked carpet that occupied the living room, buying Rodrigo enough time to think. The jaguar's prior actions gave him his only current means of escape.

"The window..." Using the last bit of strength he possessed, Rodrigo was able to shift the chair back and forth to create a rocking motion, a motion that allowed him to move towards the window gradually. The acrid smoke of the fire filled his lungs as the flames had begun to consume the carpet, quickly closing the gap to where his chair had been. Upon reaching the window, his plan hit a standstill. He hadn't figured a way to get out of the room, and the window was 3 floors above the street. The heat of the the flames licking at his back was enough to stir desperation from Rodrigo. He rocked forward and slammed his head into the window, but only yielded a slight cracking sound. Blood flowed from the cuts in his forehead that were reopened after the impact with the glass. He tried again, with the same result as before. He could see flames at the edge of his peripherals, and his back felt like the chair had already caught fire. Exhaustion and the fumes of the smoke gave Rodrigo one last push, and he slammed his head into the window again and again. His thoughts were not troubled by Fernando of Carmelita, only survival. The window finally shattered and he went tumbling onto the balcony and over the edge. His last conscious thought was the feeling of free fall as he approached the street below. He never felt the impact, as his body had now become cold and the brilliant blaze behind him had faded into a stark, white landscape.

**A/N: Well that got kind of intense... So who is Fernando? Why would he want Fox dead? What was this "project" they were working on? What will happen to Carmelita? When will these ambiguous and vague questions stop? As I said before, I will devote my efforts to shaping this story into my vision. Expect an update soon, and y'all take care!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, it's been a while! Sorry for the long wait, classes and midterms have both been occupying the majority of my time, as well as a couple of group projects and out of town visits. But enough excuses, here's chapter 2!**

Paris always seemed like a ghost town this time of year. The usually crowded streets bustling with tourists and residents were now empty, blanketed by a thick sheet of snow from the previous morning. Frosty shop windows mocked those unfortunate enough to deal with the cold, tempting them with the prospect of a warm bed and a fire. Those fortunate enough were oblivious to the tundra-like atmosphere right outside their homes, nestled in their blankets of warmth and security. Inspector Carmelita Fox had been asleep in her apartment that night when her cell phone rang. She shot upright in the kitchen chair she had drifted off in, a plethora of documents and folders spread across the table in front of her like some unruly battle to hold her attention. She glanced over to see the dull green digits on her oven read a quarter past three. She made a motion to carry herself to her bedroom when she heard the phone a second time, the light vibrations causing her car keys to chime in tune on the coffee table. Stumbling across the carpet on what felt like stilts, she grabbed for the device and roughly pressed it against her ear.

"Sí?" There was a pause on the other end before someone spoke.

"Carmelita?" It was Amber Volk, the local Constable at the Interpol Office in Paris and her current partner. The two had been working cases for the past year under Barkley. Carmelita had initially expressed doubts due to past performances with her last two partners, but Volk's reputation of a fast riser in the ranks soon held weight in Paris, and she was now considered one of the top agents in this region.

"Do you know what time it is?" Carmelita replied bluntly, annoyed at the idea of being denied a hot shower and clean sheets.

"I know, but..." Amber sounded nervous, slightly on edge. Carmelita picked up on the hesitation almost immediately.

"What's wrong?" She hesitated again before speaking in defeat.

"It's your dad." Those three words had been enough for Carmelita to throw on a pair of boots, shorts, a tank top, and her jacket and be down to her garage within minutes, taking the stairs two at a time. The metal door of the building's garage moaned as it parted the snow that had built up in front of the cave-like entrance, but she floored the gas on her old Ferrari as soon as the dank, humid darkness gave way to a landscape blanketed by glowing frost. The tires of the car squealed as they struggled to grip the icy surface, but caught traction and caused Carmelita to be pushed back into her seat. She thought about her father as she weaved back and forth through twisting streets with a white-knuckle grip on the wheel, wondering how something like this could happen. She knew that him coming back had been a bad idea, after the career that he had led. The only reason he had moved back to Paris after his retirement was that he was suffering from what most would call being stir crazy. Le Paradox's threat to the city and the rather lackluster response by Interpol officials did little to convince Rodrigo that Interpol was well off, as well as the rising frequency of attacks on this scale growing. Rodrigo had fought his way up the chain enough to know that the people in charge would be willing to prevent a crisis like that ever happening again. In order to fix this problem, Interpol signed him on as an advisor for case management and crime prevention within the Paris office under Barkley. With little results after six months, he pitched a solution that he had orchestrated over the past few weeks with the aid of friends he had met over the years. He had developed the concept of a task force to deal with these larger threats that would allow regular field agents to continue on investigations while the situation was dealt with. He called it the "Interpol Criminal Activities Research and Suppression Divison." While Carmelita had been wary of an international, militarized police force, Interpol picked up on the idea and ran with it, placing Rodrigo Fox in charge of the now dubbed ICARUS Group as it's Director of Operations. In the past two years, the division had eliminated large-scale crime in Western Europe with frightening effectiveness, and had become recognized around the world as an elite counter-criminal and counter-terrorism unit. Her father had initially turned down the responsibility of running the group, but took the director position with some coaxing by Barkley and others. Now, that same director was struggling to stay alive in the ICU. Amber had given the address of the hospital to Carmelita as she had left. A normal trip from her apartment to the hospital would usually take about thirty minutes. She managed the drive in twelve, swerving to the curb and running to the doors at a dead sprint. The smell of sanitized floors hit her nose as she burst into the main foyer of the hospital ward, making a chill run up her spine. The stark, bare bulbs of a standing lamp illuminated the waiting room, casting feint shadows that danced with the three-dozen people occupying the rows upon rows of chairs. Most of the present individuals were Interpol agents or executives, a testament to the respect Rodrigo had commanded over the years. Barkley was the first to approach her.

"How are you Carm?" She ignored his query flatly, gripping his wrists with some force.

"Where is he?" Barkley tried to wrap one arm around her shoulder but she pulled away from him.

"Now Carm, you need to understand..."

"Where is he"? She demanded an answer again, her ears now pinned back against her head and her speech replicating that of a snarl. Barkley waved his arm toward the closed Intensive Care ward at the other end of the room. Her steps were now frantic as she threw open the doors, her eyes greeted by a host of medical personal that tried to push her away.

"Por favor! Please, it's my father!" The two wards currently holding her back eyed each other before releasing their grasp, allowing her to pass into the dimly lit room. That sanitized smell was even stronger in this tight space, but she saw what she assumed to be her father lying on a bed wrapped in more bandages than clothing. His breathing was raspy but steady, and his heart monitor chimed in a rhythmic tone. From what she could see he was missing the better part of his right ear, the rough tear covered by white gauze that was already turning red. Both of his hands were taped and his one arm was already set in a cast, angled over his chest almost lazily. Layers of gauze, wrapping, and bandages covered his chest, while his lower half was covered in a stark white bed sheet. The chart at the end of his bed described his legs as stable, despite have suffering multiple fractures in both. She sat there for a few minutes with his hand in hers, listening to the steady pace of his gasps for air.

"He won't be awake for some time, the medication has taken affect." Carmelita's head shot up to see a small doctor peering into the room, hesitant to barge in on her.

"What happened?" The guinea pig shuffled into the room and withdrew the clipboard at the foot of the bed. He pensively looked the papers up and down before reading it to her.

"Official police report hasn't come through yet, but he suffered minor cranial bleeding from the fall out of his window, a fractured radius and ulna, wrist, and shoulder, two broken tibias, minor internal bleeding with a collapsed lung and severe facial trauma. It's really a miracle that he's in the shape that he's in." She gripped his hand tighter at that sentence, gently rubbing his palm with her thumb. The doctor quickly exited and Carmelita sat there for what felt like hours until a knock came from the doorframe. It was Barkley.

"How are you holding up?" She didn't even look up as tears welled in her eyes.

"I'll live, but do you know what happened? Who did this?" Barkley coughed and waved his phone in her direction.

"That's actually what I was coming to tell you. Cross has got some of his guys working on it, and that he wants to see you. I think it's the cafe just around the corner." She again stood still, simply exchanging looks between Barkley and her father. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Go, we'll keep an eye on him; 24 hour security until we figure out what we're dealing with." Gripping his hand one last time she walked out of the room slowly with Barkley, shutting the door as two agents wielding H&amp;K UMP's posted themselves at the entrance. She walked outside in almost a daze; Amber had already gone and she could see the light from the cafe sign glimmering in the snowy street; it was the only place open at this hour and was frequented by those heading home from the various bars also scattered about. The light scent of coffee drifted from the golden windows as she approached in the frigid air, watching a few figures pass back and forth inside. A blast of warm air hit her face as she opened the door, quickly stepping inside and shrugging off the snow on her jacket. The scene inside was that reminiscent of a coffeehouse straight out of an independent French film. A thin blanket of smoke danced around the ornate bulbs hanging over the scattered tables, occupied by maybe half a dozen customers. At the table to her left sat a lone, blanketed timberwolf, standing as she walked forward and embracing her in a hug. If Rodrigo Fox was the brains behind ICARUS, Matthew Cross could be considered it's muscle. Cross was an imposing figure to most; an athletic, muscular build covered in a charcoal grey coat of fur, with a short, black beard and coal black hair. A pair of emerald green eyes sat in behind a sharp, defined face that bore scars that danced diagonally from the bridge of his nose, across his eye, and down his cheek. The beard always made him look older, but the wolf was more appropriately in his late twenties, with thirty knocking on the door any day now. He was the current field commander of ICARUS, with a decorated career of military and private contracting service behind him. He motioned for her to sit down, a steaming cup of coffee already waiting for her.

"How are you Carm?" He was English by nature, but his accent had become somewhat construed after a short residence in South Africa, mixing his Berkshire accent with that of what you would hear in Johannesburg.

"I'm-I'm fine. I just- I'm not really processing this right now." He gripped her hand and lowered his head, retrieving his phone from his pocket and placing it on the table. He seemed hesitant of speaking at first.

"I'd like to say I brought you here for consolation, but there's more to it than that. My boys are looking into who did this to the old man; all we know for sure is that they buggered off real quick once they finished." He pushed the phone towards her, the screen showing a picture of the burnt out frame of what used to be her father's apartment. She could also see other ICARUS agents sifting through parts of the wreckage.

"Have they found anything?" The wolf withdrew the phone and put it back into his coat, glancing around the cafe.

"In due time. But first, I think you'd like to meet the chaps who found Rodrigo." As if on cue, the bell on the front door chimed as it swung open. She turned and, despite the heavy amount of clothing the two wore, she recognized those horn-rimmed glasses anywhere.

"Bentley!?"

**A/N: So what could Bentley have to do with Rodrigo? Expect to see some of your favorite characters make a few cameo appearances, it's the least I could do. ;) Again, sorry for the long wait; hopefully the next chapter gets out sooner.**

**Songs I'm jamming to this chapter:**

**I Walk Alone - Saliva**

**Breathing - Yellowcard**

**All on Me - Case &amp; Point**

**King of Kings - Motörhead**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So happy that I could get this out relatively fast. Work on chapter 4 is already in progress, and should be coming along soon! Thank you all for your opinions and support, and I hope that everyone has a safe and very blessed Thanksgiving, (you know, unless you don't celebrate that, I don't judge.). Y'all take care!**

Bentley's presence wasn't what shocked Carmelita; she had seen him numerous times since Le Paradox's imprisonment. What stood out from the usually paraplegic turtle was that he was _standing._ With ease. Unfurling from the leather coat bundled around him, he pulled a chair from a nearby table and edged it close to her. Murray's large purple fingers flung the hood from his shoulders, but he managed to squeeze in next to Cross. Bentley stared at her a few moments before laughing giddily.

"What's that saying about flies and open mouths?" It took a few moments for her to stammer over her response.

"Y-you're walking. On two feet! That's impossible!" Bentley pulled his legs toward Carmelita and motioned under the table.

"You'll find that I've done a little tinkering to them..." Surrounding both of his legs were what looked to be tracking devices, with wire frames tracing their way up into his shell. The surrounded his ankles and feet like boots, like the pedals on a bicycle almost.

"They tap into my neuromuscular junctions and manipulate electrical impulses. Long story short, I can walk again. I'm a bit rusty, but I think I can work out the kinks." Carmelita examined the devices over before looking at him again, her expression turning from surprise to a sincere smile.

"I'm happy for you, really. But I need to ask you something." Bentley nodded, swinging his legs back under the table with some effort. Carmelita slunk her head down for a moment before looking at the two opaque frames covering his eyes.

"How did you find my father?" Bentley waved a hand across the table at Cross casually, who was sipping on his coffee.

"You can really thank him for that. We were driving by on a midnight run and saw him laying in the street. The apartment had already gone up and he was losing blood fast. We put two and two together and drove him to the hospital; got out of there before the rest of Interpol showed up." Murray cracked his knuckles and leaned back with an accomplished look on his face.

"Thanks to my driving, of course." Carmelita nodded and listened intently, furrowing her brow slightly when they had finished.

"So you were just driving by my father's apartment at 2 AM? What were you doing?" The two shifted nervously, now fully aware that they were seated between two of the best Interpol agents in Europe as Carmelita and Cross looked at them quizzically. Bentley removed his glasses and wiped them down with a cloth from his jacket.

"Now, there are precautions in place, certain regulations, an-" Carmelita slammed a fist down on the table, her teeth in a snarl and leaning towards the turtle.

"WHAT were you doing at my father's Bentley?" Her outburst drew little attention from the cafe. The turtle motioned her to sit down and lowered his voice.

"Calm down Inspector, let's go outside. Somebody may be listening." Cross had scouted the cafe before either party got there. He knew everyone at the cafe at the moment; he figured Bentley wanted to have some room to run in case Carmelita resorted to her shock pistol rather than words. The group shuffled about inside before pushing through into the cold, the snowflakes now subsiding and welcoming the rising sun tucked behind a cluster of angry, looming clouds. Cross retrieved a jacket from his car and handed it to Carmelita, who wrapped the extra layer around her exposed tail. Bentley and Murray stopped at the corner of the cafe and turned to them, Bentley casually pulling a cigarette from his jacket and lighting it to Carmelita's surprise.

"You smoke?" The turtle nodded, placing his old fashion lighter back into his pocket.

"A side effect of the boots; they give me a _serious_ craving for nicotine. I'm trying to work that out as well." He took a few drags on his smoke before stomping it out in the snow, watching as the acrid smoke spiraled up into a frosty vortex.

"We found your father because we were trying to protect him. We got word on ThiefNet that someone had been looking for him for the past few weeks. We couldn't dig up anything more than a codename: Aegis. We went to monitor his house but we were too late. That's how he ended up at the hospital and we made our hasty retreat as Interpol arrived." Carmelita's grimaced face now turned to agitation rather than blind fury. She furrowed her brow.

"Why did you leave? Barkley wouldn't have done anything to you knowing you saved him." Bentley shook his head, doubt spreading across his features.

"Barkley would have wanted full cooperation; something I'm not willing to do considering I have him and half of his agents bugged. I trust him about as much as he trusts Matt, which, let me assure you, is very little." Carmelita looked to Cross.

"Why doesn't he trust you?" Bentley interjected with a raised finger.

"Because, and I quote, that _Cross and his boys are gunslingers just itching to get into a fight. They lack discipline._" Bentley's impression of the gruff Chief Inspector brought a smile to Carmelita's face. Cross half shrugged underneath his coat.

"Well, he's not wrong. I don't answer to him though, I answer to the old man." Bentley nodded and turned back to Carmelita.

"Someone was out to get your dad Inspector, and as far as they're concerned it's a job well done. I'll see what I can do to filter any reports or articles."

She walked forward and hugged them both, tears beginning to well in her eyes as she squeezed tightly onto both of them.

"Thank you, both of you." They smiled and returned the hug, albeit hesitant. This was the most emotion the two had seen out of her in a long time. Since a certain raccoon had gone missing a few years prior, Carmelita's 6 month search had been fueled by over the counter anti-depressants and a ludicrous amount of alcohol, both of which she particularly cared for in the first place. Since she was ordered to take a temporary leave of absence, her disposition reflected little of what was left of the fiery, Spanish crime fighter most had known her to be. Her life now consisted of work around Interpol and the little time in between that served as sleeping and eating. One would guess that she was taking her father's near death quite well had they not been around her for more than five minutes. Her career's sole obsession was now gone, and Carmelita had little to show for it aside from a paraplegic turtle and a getaway driver who were now both apparently on her side. Inside the office, rumors had already begun to circulate about how her favorite "escape" was what caused her decline in emotional ties. Partners came and went, work slowed and quickened, and Carmelita sat at the center of it all, as unchanged as she was at the beginning. She was burning the candle at both ends; all three of them had seen that now. They sat there for a moment, statues in the growing twilight of the Parisian streets. The silence was broken by the ringing of Matthew's cell phone, which he quickly answered and roughy shoved to his ear.

"What? Are you k- okay, I'll be there in a few." The wolf hung up his phone and gruffly shoved it into his pocket with a few muffled expletives. Walking over to the three, they could see evident agitation in his face.

"I've got to get going, Barkley's sticking his damn nose where it doesn't belong. Carm, I need you to come too." She took one last glance at the two she had considered once as a temporary family and smiled weakly. Leaving the embrace, she walked towards Cross' car parked at the front of the cafe. Matthew yelled as the turtle and hippo began to walk away.

"Bentley!" The turtle turned on his heels to see Cross motioning a phone brought up to his ear.

"I'll keep in touch, you boys take care. Let me know if you find anything." Bentley turned before Cross spoke again.

"And Bentley..." His horn rimmed glasses turned, now frosty from being exposed to the frigid weather.

"Thank you." The two simply nodded before vanishing into the shadow of the adjacent alleyway. Carmelita was trying to wrap her jacket closely around herself, as she was visibly shaking in the frosty, Paris morning.

"Hijo de puta, can we get out of this snow?" Cross laughed playfully before letting her into his car, a silver Aston Martin Vantage. The roar of the custom, supercharged engine echoed loudly off of the buildings as he slammed down on the gas, sending the sports car throttling down the street. They talked little on the way to their destination, Cross making periodical "stops" to make sure they weren't being tailed. Carmelita was apprehensive at the danger of being followed, but Cross insisted that he did this every time as a force of habit. Finally, the two approached a backlot just on the other side of the Seine, relatively close to her Interpol office. At the end of the lot was a battered, rustic garage, which Matthew abruptly pulled up to and flung the gear into park.

"Wait just one minute." He stepped out of the vehicle and walked towards the garage, flinging up the aluminum door with ease. He returned to the car as Carmelita looked at the clock display on the dash. It was about 5 after 7, she had nearly spent 3 hours in the hospital. The car jolted to a halt inside the garage as the thin, aluminum door closed behind it. Killing the engine, Cross turned to her.

"You may want to get out of the car." She hastily swung the door open, welcomed by a wall of warm air that smelled of motor oil and grease. The temperature of the garage was rather comforting, despite the stench, and Cross motioned for her to come stand beside him. On the wall was a small light switch that he took to with a screwdriver laying on a saw horse nearby. After a few seconds, the rusty face of the socket cover was lifted to reveal what she recognized as a biometric scanner. The wolf placed three of his fingers on the scanner before kneeling down to eye level and looking into the crisscrossing blue and white lines. A series of chimes came for the console before he screwed the wall cover back on and stepped back. The entire building started to shake like an earthquake had struck just outside the door. To her surprise, the concrete floor began to descend, revealing the frame of a modern freight elevator and lights going down. The lurch from the elevator was enough to throw her off of her feet, and Cross helped her up as a metal plate began to slide across above them. This plate sealed the floor above, and unfortunately gave a stir to Carmelita's claustrophobia. She leaned on Matthew's Aston Martin as they were showered in a dim, blue light and watched the floors descend one by one. Cross took note of her present condition and laughed.

"If your grip gets any tighter you might rip my mirror off. It's ok, we're almost there." As if on cue, the elevator began to slow, revealing a door akin to what could be found in a submarine. Cross walked forward and turned the wheel a few times, but paused before opening it completely. He had a slight grin as he looked to Carmelita.

"Welcome to Olympus."

**A/N: Songs of the Chapter**

**Drinking Class- Lee Brice**

**My Texas- Josh Abbott Band**

**Over When Its Over- Eric Church**

**What About Now- Daughtry**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I sincerely apologize for the lengthy delay for this next chapter. School work on top of writer's block made the process painfully slow, and I feel terrible I wasn't able to get this chapter out promptly. Hopefully chapter 5 will come faster as the wheels are beginning to turn in my main story arc. Stay patient, stay classy, and I wholeheartedly appreciate the support I have received for Bloodlines. Until next time, take care everyone!**

**P.S.- In the meantime between chapters, I may be exploring other niches or genres that I could dabble in. Let me know if there's anything y'all would like to see me try. **

Since it's inception, ICARUS would come to be known as the unofficial bridge between international law enforcement and counter terrorism. Rodrigo Fox led the charge to build better ties with these special operations groups around the globe, garnering much skepticism from the higher ups in Interpol but solidifying a union that would place him at the forefront of operational advisement. With the likes of the British SAS, French GIGN, and the US Navy SEALS in his corner, Rodrigo's horizons broadened further than ever.

Carmelita marveled at the stark difference between the crude service elevator and the modern control center that made up the main "situation room" of ICARUS HQ. Rows of monitors and panels covered the far wall entirely, each being monitored by an attendee or individual with their hands moving swiftly across a keyboard or notepad. Modern lighting fixtures in the walls illuminated the room, which split at its center juncture into a wall of cubicles and an elevated glass office. She could see that a secondary hallway led further into the complex on the other side of the cubicles, but her attention turned towards the glass box suspended above a solid, metallic floor. Cross walked up a set of stairs that led directly to the room, waiting for her at the entrance. He swung the glass pane open and allowed her to walk in, the floor transitioning from cold steel to a burgundy carpet. Barkley was already in the room, talking casually to a ferret in a pressed military uniform. Cross clicked his heels to draw the badgers attention and stood stoic.

"You wanted to see me, sir."

"At ease, _son_." The words had a small bit of venom tied to them, almost mocking the posture that Cross had deemed commonplace for quite a while now. Barkley simply nodded to Carmelita and handed Cross a manila folder, gruffly shoving the object into the wolf's hands.

"Rodrigo's condition has improved but he'll be out of action for quite some time. We don't know who or what did this, but Interpol is running a tight ship until this mess gets sorted out. As of now, your acting commander will be Colonel Laroche. I assume you two have met before?" Carmelita saw Cross' eyes narrow to an icy glare as the ferret simply nodded, returning the exchange and holding out a hand. The wolf refused to shake it, straightening up as an act of defiance against the overly dressed animal. One could cut the tension in the room with a blade, and Barkley quickly took note. He pushed himself between the two and glared at Cross.

"That's enough, get yourself sorted out and prep your men. Be on standby once we need you. Details are in the print." Barkley nodded to the messy stack of papers that lined the inside of the folder.

"Then I get to see my father." Carmelita interjected and the wolf and badger nodded in unison, able to agree on some common ground. Satisfied with the answer, she made her way back to the glass door, ready to tour the rest of the facility. Laroche placed his beret back on his head and eyes down his nose at the wolf.

"Don't forget who is in charge here, _Gryphon_." A slight smile creeped across Matthew's features, even if only for a second.

"Copy that, _sir_." The last word was spoke with sarcasm and contempt. Happy with his accomplishment, Cross spun on his heels to exit the office with Carmelita. Laroche scoffed as the two made their way down the stairs out of ear shot.

"Fucking insolent boy, just wait..." Barkley glared at the ferret, lighting a cigar in the process and inhaling a puff of the sweet smelling smoke.

"Lay off the kid, the man that he loves as a father is on death's door at the moment. He might be a loose cannon, and I don't like him either, but he's damn good at what he does. Just, ease off before you're the one in a hospital bed."

...

The rest of the facility mimicked that of a doomsday bunker. Narrow corridors lined with modern bulbs and solid steel walls that occasionally gave way to a maintenance room. Carmelita tried to keep pace with Cross as he stormed to what she could only assume to be the barracks section.

"What was that about?" Cross glanced back momentarily and let out a scoff.

"What was what?"

You know what was what." Cross stopped in his tracks and turned to her, his face flustered and his fist balled up into his jacket.

"That fucker doesn't know sod about what we do or how to do it. Hell, he couldn't put on his boots in the morning if he didn't have them bloody labeled with sticky notes." His English accent came across strong at the sudden outburst, and he immediately pinched the bridge of his nose in order to calm his breathing.

"Why? Is he incapable? Stupid? Or..." The wolf held up a lone finger to quiet her, but traced the claw down the length of the scar that marked his face with a cynical smirk.

"Compliments of the last mission he was in charge of. My best impression of him was a face full of shrapnel and the capacity to do fuck all for eight weeks." The statement took her aback a moment. She didn't know much about said mission, but she knew enough to figure it was the same incident that caused them to meet in Cairo. Cross lost six men that day... Cross immediately regretted snapping at her, and his ears fell to the sides of his head.

"I'm sorry. I-"

"It's alright, but what's done is done. Until my father recovers, we're stuck with him." Cross huffed for a moment but nodded in agreement, placing a hand on her shoulder as the state of her father hit her again, causing her eyes to go to the floor.

"Here's hoping to a speedy recovery. Don't worry, he won't being going out that easily." A raucous burst of laughter resounded from the end of the hallway, and Cross nodded towards the corridor as a smile crept onto his features.

"Come on, I'll introduce you to the boys."

The sight before Carmelita was surprising to say the least. The narrow hallway gave way to a massive mess hall, with enough capacity to hold over 200 people. Only one table was occupied, a half dozen men laughing at some previously told joke. Cross made his presence known and they turned to greet him. A wily looking German Shepherd stopped and eyed Carmelita up and down, turning to Matthew with a chuckle.

"Hey Matt, how much did you have to pay this one?" The heavy Irish accent made the comment sting just a little bit more, and Carmelita snarled and began to reach for her shock pistol. Cross stopped her arm and laughed at the dog.

"The fuck do you mean pay? We all know none of them would stay with your ass if we all chipped in." The remark was enough to draw another round of laughter, and the dog stood up to face Carmelita with a grin on his face.

"Take it easy, all in good fun. Finnigan Cross, at your service ma'am. But you can call me Finn." He extended a hand to shake hers and she hesitantly accepted it, wary of the dog's sudden change of heart. Carmelita took note of his name and turned to Matthew.

"Cross?" The two nodded in unison as Finn wrapped an arm around the wolf's shoulder.

"Aye, he's my stepbrother." Carmelita's eyes widened, but Finn took little notice and continued around the table.

"This here is our own little happy family. To my right is our friendly neighborhood Royal marine." The border collie nodded and extended his hand.

"Simon McHale, Special Boat Service." The grey and black dog had piercing yellow eyes that seemed to glow, enough to unnerve her slightly. His eyes were offset by the warm smile set on his face. The coyote next to him tipped the edge of his ball cap in her direction, giving a more professional tone as he straightened up in his seat.

"Robert Guerrero, JSOC Delta." The coyote's Midwestern accent was enough to confirm he was American. A head of dusty brown hair did it's best to drop down in front of a pair of hazel eyes. He slapped the shoulder of the man next to him, a hulking grizzly bear twice the size of anyone at the table.

"Roman Kozlov, Vympel Unit." Vympel Unit? Her father had been able to recruit Russian Spetsnaz operators to ICARUS? The patch on the bear's uniform confirmed her suspicions; the open parachute set against a golden shield and sword with the tri-color Russian flag above it. The hog next to him stood up, shaking her hand with enthusiasm.

"Nate Rubeno, Army Rangers." The hog's ACU garb confirmed he was American as well, a heavy set man with a thick Creole accent and a hearty chuckle. She would later learn his family had been part of the Acadian migration from Canada to Louisiana with the ousting of the French. The last man was a cougar donned in the light grey tiger camo of the United States Air Force, and he tipped his hat with a wink.

"Stephen Moxley, most people call me Mox though. 160th SOAR." Carmelita turned to see the famous patch on his sleeve; the "Night Stalkers" were known for daring, nighttime rescue missions and assaults, though she had never seen their infantry abilities at work. Finn proudly stood behind them, his hands on the shoulders of Moxley and Rubeno with a grin plastered on his face.

"Atlas Six, at your service ma'am." She marveled at the somewhat international team, each man a little more unique than the last. Despite being part of ICARUS, they all still related with their respective services.

"Thank you, is there anything you can do to help me find who attacked my father?" The grins faded for a moment, the thought of their commander in the verge of death disheartened them. Matthew clapped his hands together and spoke.

"Of course, we're gonna make em pay for what they did to the old man. Mox?" The cougar hopped to his feet in an instant.

"Yessir?"

"Run the term 'Aegis' through any criminal database you can find. We need to know where this paper trail starts." Moxley grabbed the small backpack with him and took off towards the back end of the mess hall.

"The rest of you, gear up and get yourself sorted. We're on standby for the next 48 hours." The group dispersed, many choosing the corridor that led to their barracks. Carmelita turned to Cross.

"What are you going to do?" He raised an eyebrow, motioning for her to come back down the hallway they had left.

"I'm taking you home."

"Bu-"

"End of discussion. Just lay low for a few days, do your usual thing. Whatever or whoever is responsible won't come for you out in the open, but I have Neptune Six on standby across from your apartment if anything happens. Trust me." Disgruntled, Carmelita nodded and followed him with a scowl on her face. She wanted to be out looking, not essentially being the bait for a trap. She pondered what Cross had said, his last sentence resounding heavily with her.

_Trust me_. Funny thing; most of the hurt in her life followed those two words.

**A/N: So we finally get to meet the ICARUS Team. I apologize that this chapter was relatively short; writing in any more would compress the plans I have for future chapters. Please feel free to leave any feedback, as it is greatly appreciated. A simple yay or nay will do; I'm open to any and all criticism or suggestions. Once again, take care everyone! **

**Songs of the chapter: **

**Into the Darkness - The Phantoms**

**Breathing - Yellowcard**

**Tuesday's Gone - Lynyrd Skynyrd (One of my all time favorite classic rock songs, second only to Free Bird.)**


End file.
